Advent Calendar 2014
by the.thirteenth.doctors
Summary: A different pairing oneshot every day until Christmas... Just for fun, suggestions open! Check pairing list on my profile for clues... HP, Sherlock, Doctor Who and more. So far, Sheriarty, Dramione, Morgwen, Janto, slight Jastra and Master/Doctor... Mentioned: Fourtris, Percico, Rarry, Thane, Spuffy, etc... Mpreg, NOT serious at all...
1. December 1st: Sheriarty

THE DUBLIN DISASTER.

{On the 1st day of Advent, a crazy fangirl gave to me

A very weird and cracky

Sheriiiiiiartyyyyy...

Hi, it's Maia! (Of course. Martha barely ever writes :'[ ) I am trying out an advent calendar oneshot thingy, I haven't done this before, so it could be terrible.

Basically, I'm going to write a oneshot every day until Dec 24th about a pairing I like (check out the list on the profile) and if you want to suggest one, review! This should be very silly and lots of fun. Well, at least for me. Sorry if I'm inflicting my horrible creations upon you...

I just realised I'm effectively talking to myself 'cause I'm a sad loner... *sob* Oh, well.}

The phone rings. At first, he ignored it. Staring down through the microscope at the bubbling green froth on the slide, he narrowed his eyes. The persistent pealing continues. RRRRRING. "John..." The great detective called for his blogger. He carried on monitoring the movement of the various bacteria surrounding the vegetation, making careful mental notes. Interesting. The bacteria weren't after the nutritional value of the plant at all; they were seeking warmth from the cell sap... RING RING. The aggravating clamour for his attention still burst from the device on the table beside him. He was busy! It could wait. It if was Mycroft again, then he'd... Sherlock retreated from this train of thought. He was supposed to be working! "John!" Nothing from his flatmate. Strangely enough, what he had first mistaken for fungi seemed to be amoebae, floating around the slide and knocking his experiment off balance. RING RING. Damn it, some people just never gave up! Sighing, Sherlock rubbed his aching eyes, pushing the microscope away. He reached over and grasped the device, not bothering to read the call ID. "Who is this?" There was a weird strangled half laughing - half crying from the other end. "HOW DAMN LONG does it take you to answer your FRICKING phone! Sherley, you won't believe this." Moriarty. He sounded... Distraught, almost. "Well?" Sherlock glanced at the screen. Ten past three in the morning. Ah. That'd be why John wasn't around. "Well, I had a client in Dublin a couple of months ago, and when I got there he - he..." Sherlock was paying attention now. "What did he do to you?!" Moriarty let out a very forced choked laugh. "He... He was..." Sherlock grabbed the phone, knuckles turning white. "What?" He replied urgently. "He was a LEPRECHAUN!" Sherlock burst out laughing. "Shut up!" The consulting criminal roared. "It isn't amusing at all. The fecking slimeball got offended when I laughed at it, and now... now..." Sherlock stopped laughing as he heard the tremor of - tears? Impossible - emotion in his archenemy's voice. "What's happened?" He tried to keep his voice calm and even. Was Jim drunk or high? He didn't sound either. "Sherley... Promise you won't laugh?" Sherlock sighed. That would probably be quite difficult. "Yes." Jim squeaked in outrage. "NO! YOU'VE GOT TO SAY IT! Oh, sorry darling. I'm a bit, um, off, today." Sherlock raised his eyebrows in alarm. Jim's notorious mood swings weren't usually this bad... "I promise..." Sherlock replied cautiously. Suddenly anguished again, Jim sobbed, "Sherlock... I'M PREGNANT!"

There was a horrible pause, filled with the noise of Jim's choked sobs and Sherlock's doubt and slight terror. What if it were true..? "Impossible." He remarked bluntly. "HOW DARE YOU - YOU FECKING SOCIOPATH, YOU UNFEELING DRIED UP SHELL OF A PERSON!" Oh dear. Apparently, Jim's many mood swings had multiplied enormously thanks to his "pregnancy". Sherlock was almost starting to believe the crazy story... "AND WORST OF ALL, IT'S YOURS!" Sherlock paled considerably. He was clutching the device so hard he was surprised it hadn't broken. "What." It wasn't a question. Jim was back to his normal self.

"Yup! I'm here preggers with Baby... Um, haven't decided, Holmes-Moriarty! It's so exciting! Ooh, I hope s/he looks like their Daddy!" He giggled at his own joke. Sherlock buried his face in his hands. "Where are you?" He groaned. "Obviously not in the office. There's no way you'd make a call like this so publicly. Perhaps a car? I can't hear an engine or traffic though and the acoustics are all wrong, so more likely to be one of your various apartments. A bedroom, maybe? Definitely not a kitchen or bathroom." Jim made a giggly sound of appreciation. "Ooh, my Sherley, you clever boy. You were right, it is only a flat, so I suppooooose you can come over..." Sherlock sighed. "You want me to come over?" "OF COURSE I BLOODY WANT YOU TO COME OVER! THAT'S WHY I ASKED, YOU MORON!" Sherlock sucked in his breath. "I meant please. Sorry, Sherleylocks." The consulting detective rubbed his exhausted eyes. "Alright, but how do I know this isn't a trap?" Jim burst into tears. Sherlock put his coat on and swung his scarf around his neck faster than he'd assumed possible. He grabbed the phone and dashed out of the door. "James?" He could hear the man wailing quietly on the other end. "Tell me where to go. I'm coming." Moriarty brightened up considerably, rattling off an address with a light chuckle. Sherlock was just glad he wasn't crying. That in itself was terrifying, let alone the fact that the person sobbing their eyes out was the most dangerous man in London, possibly the world. He hailed a taxi; luckily,the address wasn't too far from Baker Street, just a few blocks. After getting in, he put the phone to his ear to make sure Moriarty was still there. In the Irish lilt so adorable Sherlock thought it should be illegal, Moriarty was singing quietly, apparently to his "pregnant" belly.

"Rest tired eyes a while,

Sweet is thy baby's smile,

Angels are guarding

And they watch o'er thee.

Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree

Here on your daddy's knee,

Angels are guarding

And they watch o'er thee,

The birdeens sing a fluting song

They sing to thee the whole day long, Wee fairies dance o'er hill and the dale, For very love of thee."

Sherlock felt an unusual fluttering from within his chest cavity. He felt like he had just intruded upon a very personal, very private moment. Apparently unflustered, Moriarty chuckled quietly to himself. "Sherley, my darling, what are we calling our child?" Sherlock was unsure as how to reply. "Well, how far along are you?" He eventually managed. "Three months, Sherley, three fricking months of needing to pee constantly, sore nipples and morning sickness! And I have to suffer another six! Names, Sherlock, quick!" Sherlock watched the streets blur past. "Er..." "AND NOT JOHN!" Moriarty cut in with a shriek. "No son of mine will be called such a BORING name." "Well, how about Mycroft?" Pause. Sherlock could feel the glare burning into him. "That was a joke!" He said hurriedly. "It had better have been..." Jim growled. Sherlock got the sudden image of him wrapping his arms around his stomach protectively, glaring at the supposed threat. Oddly enough, the image was rather heartwarming. "Well, for a girl, um... Aeryn, meaning Ireland... And a boy... Finn?" Moriarty squealed in delight, clapping his hands together. "You are so perfect, baby, yes you are!" "Oh. Well, thank you, James." "Not you, you doofus. Baby!" The criminal snarled. "Oh. Oh! Okay." The taxi pulled up outside an ordinary, slightly shabby looking building. Sherlock paid the driver and exited, ringing the doorbell. "I'm just outside." He informed the criminal genius. "Yes, darling, I knooooow. I have to walk down these stairs to get to you!" Sherlock shrugged, hanging up. A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a very unexpected sight. Sherlock had presumed drugs or alcohol to be the cause, but when the criminal threw his arms about his shoulder in relief, he knew that somehow he was telling the truth.

Sherlock could feel the press of Jim's swollen stomach against this own. When he was released, Sherlock just looked at his nemesis, the father of his child. Who wouldn't - his normally perfect hair flopped forwards messily, he was dressed in casual sleep wear, and his torso was completely distorted by the bulge of his small, but very visible, baby bump. "You think I'm ugly now. You don't like me anymore, because of this..." Jim said in a small voice. He poked his belly angrily, though softly enough to show that he didn't mean it. "No, no." Sherlock took the younger man into his arms. "You're just as lovely as always." Jim beamed. "Thank you, Sherlock." His tone was serious and slightly embarrassed. Sherlock didn't think that Moriarty got embarrassed; apparently this was not the case. "Aeryn-Finn is very proud of her father..." "So you've decided she's a girl, then. And which father?" Sherlock commented dryly. "No, no, I just think that as Sherlock is a girl's name, if Baby is a boy, then he won't mind being addressed as "she"." Sherlock wanted to hit him. He didn't, though, because you don't hit the "mother" of your child. "Fine. Which father?" Jim was hyper and delighted once again. "Well, you can be father, and I'll be daddy!" Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing, as he didn't want Jim to go all Attila the Hun on him...

{To be continued in a few days...}


	2. December 2nd: Dramione

{On the second day of Advent, a maniac gave to meeeeee, a half cracked creepy Dramioneeeeeeeeee...}

"Malfoy. Truth or Dare?"

Draco Malfoy looked up from his book; "Moste Potente Potions". They were sitting outside by the lake, the whole of Slytherin out celebrating their victory against Gryffindor. Of course, ask any Gryffindor and they'd whine about cheating and foul play, etcetera, but still. A win was a win in his eyes. Blaise Zabini waved a hand in front of his face. "Draco, mate. Truth or Dare?" The blond rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance. "And now all of seventh year have lowered themselves to playing Muggle teenage girl's games?" Zabini just laughed.

"You miseryguts, Malfoy. It's just for fun. Fine, you pick one for me." Draco's grey eyes lit up. "Anything?" A sly grin played upon his narrow pallid lips. Blaise rolled his eyes. "Anything." Pansy giggled. "Oh, Blaise..." She cooed. "Drakey's gonna completely humiliate you!" Because he didn't feel like total humiliation, Draco simply smirked. "Blaise... You have to..." The dark skinned Slytherin was getting visibly anxious now. "Jump in the lake. Stay there, screaming like a girl until Potter or the Giant Squid or someone rescues you."

Zabini groaned. "Fine, fine." He inhaled deeply and took off at a run towards the lake, robes flapping behind him. He looked like a demented butterfly, with rather more un-manly squealing and a steady stream of cursewords. He flew over the edge into the black water of the Great Lake. A colossal splash. Then he resurfaced, spluttering and choking. "Help!" He shrieked in a wavering falsetto. "Oh, please help me, someone!"

Strangely enough, it was not Potter or Weasley that dived in to be the hero this time. Oh, no. This time, GRANGER, of all people, had to take off her robe, jumper and shoes, leaping in after the soaked Slytherin in just her blouse and skirt. Draco had an awful feeling that her kind of blouse was just the type to go pleasantly transparent... Just his luck. After Granger had fished Blaise out (he'd kissed her hand melodramatically and proclaimed her his heroine) she had turned to walk back to Potter and Weasley, a broad grin on her face. Draco stared after her almost wistfully. "Drake, mate. Truth or Dare?" He'd sighed impatiently. "Dare, of course." Blaise had thrown him a slightly terrifying smirk. "Sure?" He rolled his eyes, looking back at his friends. "Dare, of course." He repeated. Blaise rubbed his hands together like an Azkaban nutter. "Welllllll..." Pansy's eyes widened in genuine fear for her "Drakey-poo". Crabbe looked interested for once, and Goyle was just picking his nose. " You have to..." Pansy gripped Blaise's arm, fingers closing around him like a cage. A cage with long sharp fake nails, that is. "Go over there..." Pansy's eyes were bulging out unnaturally now. Her knuckles had lost all colour and Blaise was wincing. "And kiss Granger!" Now it was Draco's turn to look gobsmacked. Except that that was not very dignified, and Malfoys were nothing if not always in control of their emotions. "No!" Squeaked Pansy. "You'll get Mudblood diseases!" He rolled his eyes at her. "I refuse." Blaise's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, really?" He laughed. "Then you'll have to do a forfeit, if you're not too much of a pansy..." Pansy pouted when he used her name as an insult. Crabbe sniggered. Draco's eyes flamed. "Fine! I'll do it!" He stormed over to Granger. Her shirt, he'd found, was indeed deliciously transparent. She stepped around him, cautiously. "Are you trying to push me in the -mmph!" His lips crashed down upon hers abruptly and she surprised herself by immediately reacting, not by slapping the prat, as she should have, but by winding her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her.

They were still at it ten minutes later, when Pansy shoved them into the Great Lake in a fit of rage. Neither really cared; Hermione had discovered that it was not just her shirt that was the see-through when wet type...

{Review, and I'll send you a virtual soaking sexy Draco... }


	3. December 3rd: Janto

{On the third day of December, an insane fangirl gave to you, a fluffyyy sweet Jantoooooo...}

"For the coffee boy xx"

Ianto frowned down at the light blue Post-it note stuck to his blazer, casually draped over his chair. He plucked it off, examining the scribbling cursive scrawl.

Had Jack thought that if he wrote quickly his handwriting would be unrecognised? He rolled his eyes in amusement. There was another on the inside of the door: "Hurry, up, Ianto..." He stuck it to the first. Smiling warmly, he left the office, notes in hand. It was abnormally quiet in the Torchwood hub, so it didn't surprise him when the next note - a vibrant shade of lime green - read "Sent them all home, come on!" He laughed; it was just such a Jack thing to do... The next few notes took him on a loop around the hub, stopping to pick up his coat, and out of the door - "you'll catch a cold out there, Yan!" and "Wrap up for the walk home 3" He followed the trail home, constantly spotting different shades of lemon, magenta, tangerine and cyan. They were everywhere; stuck to trees, railings, letterboxes and even the odd pet! When he finally reached the front door, the purple note read, "For the prettiest Welshman alive. JH xx" He pushed the unlocked door open, tugging off his coat and closing the door behind him, the broad grin steadily widening as he did so. Clutching the little bundle of notes to his chest, he burst into the kitchen, a flurry of excitement. Jack sat at the table, a huge pile of paperwork and letters stacked high in front of him. He raised his head to acknowledge Ianto, blowing him an air kiss as he did so. Ianto noticed he was wearing black rimmed square glasses that made him look nerdy in an intelligent, sexy way. Ianto stood at the door, practically trembling in excitement. "Oh, Yan, there's some mail for you, baby. Here." Jack passed him an envelope and a small package wrapped in brown paper. He laughed his thanks, eagerly unwrapping the parcel. Medication for Myfanwy. From Owen. Yay... He turned to the envelope, disappointed. Inside was a neon yellow Post-it. He carefully prised it away from the white envelope. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to my immortal life. I love you, Ianto Jones, my gorgeous teaboy, my best friend, my love. Now, stop reading because I have something important to tell you! JH xx" Ianto looked up, heart hammering, cheeks flushed pink in shock and delight. Jack was cleaning his glasses awkwardly on his sleeve. He bit his lip anxiously and looked up. Jack, embarrassed? Seriously? The infamous Captain Jack, notorious universally for his flamboyant flings and extreme flirting, blushing like a schoolgirl when he finally met Ianto's eyes. He bit his lip, before pulling something out of his pocket and getting up out of his chair. Ianto was just about paralysed. He stood, mouth hanging open, as Jack slowly got down on one knee. At this expression, Jack's anxiety fell away and he flashed his trademark roguish grin. He opened the box, still delighting in the surprise on his boyfriend's face. The ring was simple; a slender white gold band gently spattered with tiny subtle diamonds shimmering a spectrum of colours in the kitchen lights. Jack cleared his throat. He looked deep into the coffee boy's eyes. "Ianto Jones, will you marry me?" Ianto practically threw himself at Jack, kneeling down and curling his arms around his neck. "God, yes, you idiot!" He answered to the question in Jack's wide eyes. "I love you, Jack..." Jack smirked. "Of course you do." They shared a kiss; just one of many promises to come.

{Sorry it was so short and cheesy... xx}


	4. December 4th: SURPRISE!

{On the 4th day of December a psycho gave to yooooooooou-

Actually, this one is a little different... For Dobi xx}

Introducing...

THE MAIRTHA CHRONICLES!

In which Maia and Martha do battle with ferocious pairings and stuff...

Anyway... Part 1: ATTACK OF THE DALEKS!

Martha tapped her fingers across the desk in a four beat rhythm, alerting her companion instantly. Maia rushed over to see what was going on. On Martha's computer screen, clearly visible, was a big fat blot in the map of the Fandom web. No, not a big red dangerous blob, oh no, but a mauve one. Dangerous Mauve... "The Doctor Who fandom needs our help!" Martha cried, tossing her short blonde hair dramatically. She pressed a button on the vortex manipulator around her wrist. Straight away, she was dressed in a black morphsuit with a mask displaying a very sinister looking aubergine. Maia leapt to her feet and did the same, except her hair wasn't blonde and her mask was of a frog... "But that's almost impossible!" Martha gasped. There was no time to be flabbergasted by the horrors of the Frog Conspiracy. The Daleks were about to kill off an OTP! Maia and Martha had to stop them! In unison, as only true superheroes can, they pushed buttons on their vortex manipulators, dematerializing instantly. One minute later (Maia had accidentally teleported into the Hunger Games universe), they arrived, not a hair out of place, movie style. Well, except Maia, but her hair was always a disgrace... Before them was an hellish sight. "NOOOOOOOO!" Screamed Maia. The Master crouched in front of the TARDIS, cradling the Doctor in his arms. Blood was pouring from the Doctor's head, his skin was deathly pale and his eyes were shut. "Oh, Rassilon!" Martha swore, pulling out her trusty sonic spoon. Gold light began to trickle from between the Doctor's fingers. The Daleks advanced on, shells shining like evil pepperpots in the dim sunlight. Martha quickly set it to laser, tuning the spoon frequency to high, and pointing it at the Daleks. Pyeeeeooow, pyeeow! The laser/sonic spoon made an electronic noise that was almost definitely not spelt like that. BANG! BANG! The first two Daleks exploded into a shower of flamboyant magenta glitter. "Exterminate! Exterminate!" The rest shrieked, trundling towards the heroines. Maia got up from where she had assumed the foetal position on the ground and wiped away the salty residue of her tears. She grabbed her own weapon, a nuclear banana powered by feels, and began wildly blasting the Daleks. "THAT'LL TEACH YOU TO TRY AND KILL MY OTP!" She howled, exploding Dalek after Dalek, a pink shimmer spraying everywhere. The Doctor began to regenerate, gold bursting from his hands and neck. The Daleks stopped. "The Doctor is reborn! The Doctor is reborn! Retreat! Retreat!" The troops chorused. Maia let out a triumphant evil laugh. Even the Master looked impressed... Before the Daleks could escape, Maia and Martha directed their combined weapons at the Dalek leader. Pop! The lid of its shell cracked open, revealing... *gasp* Lady Croakington, leader of the Frog Conspiracy. Maia gasped. Martha glared. "So that's why you made us swim all those extra lengths... You wanted to train us into frogs! And now you're trying to destroy our ships!" Lady Croakington gave a croaking cackle. "Quote right, my dear child. Only for some reason, the frog transformation process didn't work..." He rasped. Martha and Maia shared an uneasy glance. Just as well, or they'd be frogs, too! With a wicked wheezing chuckle (not half as evil or awesome as Maia's laugh), Lady Croakington disappeared, taking the Daleks with him. Maia turned back to her beloved Time Lords. Thank goodness they were alright, though the Doctor had lost his lovely spiky locks, instead, looking giraffey, with a flopping mop of hair. Hugs were exchanged, and all too soon, it was time for the Fandom Fighters to return home... Maia wiped a tear from her eye as she removed her frog mask. It was burnt quickly with the new incinerator setting on Martha's sonic spoon. The blonde sighed, drumming her fingers to a different rhythm. "Who could have thought that Lady Croakington could have been behind all this?" She inquired to Maia, who was calmly throwing darts at her friend's Sherlolly fanart posters. "Well, he always was evil..." "True, true," Martha sighed.

In the vortex, the Doctor noticed something strange on the TARDIS monitors... A peculiar symbol, or logo...

:-)

Almost Impossible

It read in scrawling green handwriting...

Little did they know that this was just the beginning of the Frog Revolution...

{Dun, dun duuuuuuun... Haha, that was so weird... Loved writing it though... Riddled with inside jokes, sorry, and in case you didn't realise, Lady Croakington is a nickname for our swimming teacher... Maia xx}


	5. December 5th: Sheriarty part 2

{On the fifth day of December, a maniac gave to meeeeee,

Part 2 of a bonkers Sheriartyyyyy!}

Sherlock woke up, instantly alert. Where was he? The room was dimly lit and he was warm, very warm. He judged he had about two minutes until whoever lay beside him awoke. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he scanned the room, making observations about the owner who was presumably beside him. The arm loosely slung around his waist indicated that no harm would come to him. However... The room was plain, with a creamy ceiling the colour of banana milk. There was nothing of note, except that it was clearly never lived in. The bedside table had an inch of dust on it and there were no signs of where the door opening had scratched the wall. It was oddly comforting, lying drowsy and content with another warm body beside him, he reflected. Too bad he only had another seventeen seconds to enjoy it... Suddenly, the person beside him rolled over, pulling him closer with a small hum of content. He froze. Definitely male; the cologne, sweat levels and hard torso proved that, but what was that?! Realisation dawned on him like a gaggle of stampeding geese (I detest geese... Geese are evil). Damn. Moriarty. Sherlock could feel clothing against his skin. He was safe. He exhaled slowly. How had this happened? The last thing he remembered was walking upstairs with him... He had planned to leave once the pregnant criminal had fallen asleep, but... "You drugged me, didn't you?" Moriarty gave an exasperated sigh. "Shut up, Sherlock, I'm asleep." He snuggled closer. Sherlock knew he was awake, but he desperately hoped that this was a dream and he was safe at home with his amoebae...

"God, Sherlock! Would you stop thinking so DAMN LOUD?" No. He would never dream this up. At least he hoped not. "Well, did you?" Moriarty groaned in irritation. "If it makes you feel any better, Sherleylocks," he growled out the pet name, "I drugged us both. Now shut up. And relax. You're like a corpse!" Well, you would know... Sherlock thought. Aloud he responded, "Fine." He let his muscles loosen slightly, recalling the number of different fonts in John's newspapers and arranging them alphabetically. Inwardly, he found it ironic. The psychopath and the sociopath. The consulting criminal and the consulting detective. He remembered some of the first words Moriarty had directed to him. 'We were made for each other, Sherlock...'

How true it was, now that he really thought about it. Sighing, he gave in and wrapped his arms around the man beside him. "What are you doing?" Moriarty's voice broke him out of his reverie. "Sleeping, you idiot. What else?" Moriarty just giggled softly. Sherlock let his eyes fall closed again. He listed the many varieties of printer ink used and the printing style methodically, slowly slipping into sleep, unaware of the danger.

In Ireland, trouble was brewing. The leprechauns had formed an alliance with the frogs, and they were determined to cause havoc. There was only one thing standing in their way...

{Sorry not much happened, but this was a filler chapter!}


	6. December 6th: The Croakington Code

{On the 6th day of December, Maia gave to yooooooou, The Mairtha Chronicles, part 2!}

*squiffy is an excellent word I made up for odd or a bit demented.

Part 2: The Frog Empress and the Croakington Code.

Maia was watching Doctor Who. She sighed in rapture at one of her favourite ships: Jastra. Behind her at her desk sat Martha. The younger girl was trying to concentrate on breaking the impossible Croakington Code. So far, no such luck. "Maia!" She yelled in frustration. "What?!" The brunette growled. She hated being interrupted during intense fangirling. Martha got up, switched the TV off and dragged her friend over, plonking the now sulking Maia on to the chair she had recently vacated.

"What the hell is 'almost impossible :-)'?!" Martha was almost tearing her hair out in irritation. Maia simply smirked. "Well, perhaps you just need someone else's opinion on it." Martha was stalking up and down the room pouting, the Sherlock coat she wore swishing dramatically around her. Maia was trying to laugh noiselessly into her sleeve, which just made her look like she was having a spasm or a shifty cigarette. "WHAT?!" Roared the irate blonde. Maia started choking on her own laughter. Martha used this as a great excuse to hit her over the back with Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix - ouch.

When Maia was finally able to speak again, she coughed, "Get the Grubmeister's opinion on it..." Martha's face turned a sickly froggish green. "Noooo!" She screamed. Maia laughed painfully. "Fine. His mum." Martha didn't look too happy about this, but, hey, who was she to object to inside information on the Frog Revolution? "Alright," she relented. Maia whooped and punched the air, narrowly missing the light, which had been a thank you present from the Master. The frozen star hung from the ceiling, lighting up the room in varying shades of turquoise, magenta and sunset. Martha was very proud of it, and winced at the near miss.

She glowered at her crazy friend, but she was too busy texting to witness the ferocity of the Nico di Angelo style death-glare directed at the back of her head. Martha sighed, swinging her legs as she perched on the edge of the desk, waiting for the Frog Empress to reply. She did not have to wait long. In a green, apple scented cloud of awesomeness, the Empress arrived. Martha blinked the appley mist out of her eyes and took in the sight before her. Striking a flamboyant pose, in the centre of the room stood a girl, Maia's age or older, with long brown hair, pale skin and a creepy facial expression. She wore black jeans, a black hoody and a green t-shirt that was emblazoned with the logo:

'Almost Impossible :-)'. Martha frowned, then gasped in horror. Maia leapt up from the sofa. "Moggie!" She said, waving her arms excitedly (Martha feared for the light, yet again). "Wait!" Martha stopped the oncoming hug. "How do we know if we can trust you?" The Frog Empress/"Moggie" laughed awkwardly. "Well, I have nothing to do with the Frog Revolution." Martha's face twisted into a bizarre shape of confusion. "However," Moggie hurried, "Froggles, one of my... Um, employees... is. He wants to take over the Fandomverse!" (I have no idea if that's what the Fandom World is called, sorry) The blonde girl looked bewildered. Maia just hugged the Frog Empress. In fact, Martha was so distracted that Mystrade could have happened and she wouldn't have noticed, or cared.

"What?" She finally managed. Moggie beamed. "Froggles! His new boyfriend, Lady Croakington, wants to make an alliance with the leprechauns!" She made a squiffy* face of amusement. Martha facepalmed. "That's all we need..." She groaned through her fingers. "Ooh!" Moggie piped up. "Jack proposed to Ianto and the leprechauns made him pregnant!" "WHAT!" Martha shrieked. "First Moriarty, and now Ianto?!" Moggie grinned crazily. "Nooooooope... Jack's pregnant." Martha made a small noise of horror. "Too much to deal with... Urgh, I have a headache..."

She slumped under the table, still clutching her face. Morgan the Frog Empress high fived Maia.

They set to work; breaking the Croakington Code in under an hour. Martha reemerged, groaning. "What do you think 'almost impossible :-)' means, then?" Morgan asked. Martha glared. "Something stupid and pointless." She growled. Moggie cheered, waving her arms around wildly. "Exactly! It doesn't mean anything!" She performed a 70s disco move, striking another pose. "Haha! My work here is done!" "Wait...!" Wailed Martha. "I don't get it..." Too late. The Frog Empress was gone in a puff of the same green fog. Martha crawled out from under the table. Unfortunately, it appeared that Maia had gone with her. Damn, she thought. The girl frowned, pushing her hair out of her face. Oh, well... She always had Jastra...

{Aww, poor Martha... Part 3 in a few days!}


	7. December 7th: Morgwen

{On the 7th day of December, a nutter gave to meeeeee,

Slightly angsty Morgwen-eeeee(?)

For my Morgana... I'll be your Gwen ;) Heh heh heh...}

She could feel her heart racing as she ran. Helter skelter, tumbling forwards, a jumble of limbs speeding through the midnight thicket. Her hair whipped her eyes, causing her to cry out as she stumbled blindly, blinking away the darkness. She heard Morgana laughing behind her. "Are we scared now, little Gwen?" She taunted, voice goading and temptingly close, yet so far away. Gwen's breath hitched as she pitched forwards into nothingness, feeling the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. She cried out in terror, reaching out for something - anything - that would break her fall. Morgana was too far away to help her now, not that she would. Morgana was dark now, she reminded herself. Morgana no longer cared.

She closed her eyes tightly, willing away her tears and the whistle in her ears as she plummeted down towards the end. She prepared herself for impact. Her shaking hands clasped her body, as if curling up like a hedgehog would save her. Time slowed as she neared the end of her fall. Her eyes flew open instinctively, trees and rocks blurring into one aching streak of fear. And then she was flying. Soaring faster and faster as she screamed, shooting back up over the edge of the ravine, deposited on the grass with the utmost delicacy.

She rolled over, shielding her eyes. Her senses were running on overdrive. She could hear the *click, click* of Morgana's boots on the dirt behind her. Her breathing grew ragged, her fingers trembling and tangling in her dark curls. Morgana had reached her now. "Get up." Gwen found her shaking limbs obeying immediately. Scrambling to her feet, the ex-maidservant blushed, brushing the dirt from her dress. Morgana smirked; leering approvingly at the plum coloured bodice that clad her slight frame. The enchantress stalked slowly closer, with all the malevolent grace of a lithe leopard about to strike. Gwen glared up at her ex-mistress. "Why are you doing this? This isn't you, Morgana!" She attempted to move forward; the sorceress's magic held her back. "Oh, hush, Gwen. You sound like Merlin..." Gwen felt like screaming. What had happened to Merlin? Was he still alive? Morgana laughed. Gwen gulped nervously as the taller woman drew nearer. "Merlin's fine. Don't you remember? I don't care about them. Uther's dead; that's all that matters. All I wanted was you." Gwen felt herself snap. "How DARE you waltz around like that, acting like you haven't been trying to kill everyone I care about, acting like you haven't been trying to kill me!" Morgana just stared back at her. Her emerald eyes were empty; no teasing light within, not even the dark hatred that usually burned within. The enchantress slowly sank to her knees, balling her fists up over her lips. Gwen ran to her; the spell was broken. Winding her arms around her Lady, she sighed. If they could keep pretending, it would be just like old times... She pressed a cautious kiss to Morgana's cheek, the first in years. The older girl's eyes flooded with tears. If they could just keep pretending...

{Aw, that was sadder than I intended... I'm sorry, guys. Review xx}


	8. December 8th: Drapple WHYYYYYY

{On the the 8th day of December - by request of Lizzieeeeeee - I was forced to write Drapple, yippee...}

Draco stared in horror at his hand. There, nestled into the almost translucent pale skin, lay an apple. It was a Granny Smith; spring green, sweet and slightly acidic. It was also - or had been seconds earlier - Hermione Jean Granger, his girlfriend of two weeks. He quickly examined her for damage. He had found her in the library, next to her folders, textbooks and numerous organisational notebooks, etc. He wouldn't have noticed if he'd been seconds later... He shuddered. If she hadn't had human arms, with that familiar caramel coloured birthmark, rapidly disappearing into the pale green fruit, he could have passed her by... She could have been eaten, at best, left alone to rot... Or her mangy cat could have... He gulped. Merlin! What was he going to do?!

{Well, that was short and not exactly Drapple, but I have been overloaded with homework and LIFE so, sorry, Lizzie... Review and I'll write whatever pairing you want, as long as it's not Sherlolly, and within reason! E.g. NOT Mairtha! That goes for Bea...} 


	9. December 9th: REVENGE! MUAHAHAHA!

{I think this is just a way of doubly irritating Martha, but I like the concept... ;)

On the 9th day of December, a lunatic gave to yoooou, a Sheriarty & Mystrade duoooo - thingy...} Warning, slight sexual themes, read at your peril, blah blah blah...

Sherlock's phone announced a text to the room, unnecessarily noisily, he reflected. He almost buried his face in his hands. Unfortunately, Irene had not just changed her ringtone. Oh, no. She had also adjusted Moriarty's. Every time Sherlock received a text from the criminal, a loud crack sounded; the sound of a riding crop on flesh. Face flushing slightly, he scrambled for the device, before snatching it out of the perplexed hands of Gavin, no, Graham, Lestrade. Mycroft sat opposite his younger brother, smirking away. Although his posture was, as always, ramrod straight, Sherlock immediately picked up on the tension - anxiety? - in his arms and unconsciously tapping fingers. Directed towards him? No. Not him. Lestrade...? Sherlock followed the elder Holmes's gaze to the detective inspector who was staring nonchalantly at the long cold tea in his cup. Was that a trace of a smile on his face? Surely not. Sherlock decided to ignore the telltale signs; relaxed breathing, crinkles by his eyes and the twitch of his lips. *Thwack!* Sherlock grimaced. "I just have to... Collect something." He rushed off in the direction of his bedroom. Left alone, finally, Lestrade raised his eyes from the teacup to offer Mycroft a coy smile. "Hello, handsome..."

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

Sherlock slammed the door behind him. Breathing out in relief, he allowed his heart rate to return to normal. He immediately jumped again as a pair of expensively clad arms snaked around his waist, pulling him into a slim, smaller body. "Darling..." The Irish lilt was crisp with irritation. "You didn't reply to my text..." Sherlock turned to face the criminal mastermind. His scowl softened as he took in his nemesis' slight pout. "Mycroft's in there..." He hissed. Jim grinned. "Well, that's half the fun..." Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow. Unfortunately, before he could voice his enquiry, he was shoved back onto the bed, arms windmilling, legs flailing. "Jim!" He yelped. "Shh, honey, remember Iceman's in the other room..." Moriarty purred, leaning down to place a kiss to his lips. Sherlock immediately forgot about Mycroft. He was lost...

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

Lestrade didn't care that Sherlock would be back any minute. He had crawled into Mycroft's lap, fingers toying with the silk tie around the elder Holmes's throat. Mycroft swallowed hard. Lestrade grinned. They heard Sherlock make a peculiar squeaking noise from his room. "Adler?" Mycroft enquired. The detective inspector shrugged. "Do you think I care?" Mycroft's eyebrows jumped about a foot. "Oh. Oh!" He realised. He gazed warily up at the silver haired officer. Lestrade threw him a wicked smile. "Ah, uh, Gavin?" "It's Greg!" Lestrade insisted, frowning. "Yes, well, I don't think that this is a good- mmph!" Lestrade wound the other man's arms around his waist none too gently, crushing their lips together."But my brother's next door..." Mycroft protested weakly. "Shut up," he whispered, smiling into the kiss.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

Moriarty suddenly found himself sprawled on his back, with an extremely eager consulting detective straddling him. He raised his eyebrows. "You've got brave, Virgin..." He commented breathlessly. Pupils dilating; flooding his eyes with onyx, Sherlock smirked, violinist's fingers fumbling with the buttons of his Westwood suit. "Ah, we both know that's not quite true..." The detective replied, slyly. Moriarty grinned. "Sherley! You naughty thing!" Sherlock yanked the criminal's arms out of his sleeves, tugging the tucked shirt out of his trousers. "Sherlock!" Jim cried, alarmed. "Yes, James?" Sherlock was too busy attacking the buttons of his shirt. "But your brother's next door!"

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

Suddenly, Mycroft found himself in a very awkward situation indeed... {Sorry, couldn't resist the cliché...} He detached his lips from Lestrade's neck, looking up to see a very started looking John Watson. John was frozen in the doorway, shopping bags dropped, contents spilling over the floor. Behind him was Mrs Hudson. The landlady was clapping her hands together in glee, giggling like a schoolgirl. Mycroft slowly released Lestrade, adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair. The detective inspector reluctantly got off the elder Holmes's lap, retreating to the sofa. It looked like Mrs Hudson was about to burst. John's mouth hung slack and his eyes bulged slightly. The two men pointedly refused to look at each other, Mycroft glaring at Sherlock's closed bedroom door, Lestrade at the spilled groceries. It took about a minute before John was able to talk. "I-I-I'm sorry, but WHAT?!" His voice cracked slightly on the last word. Sherlock took that as a perfect opportunity to shove Moriarty up against the door, causing him to fall backwards through it and into the room. "Hey, mind Aeryn-Finn, Sherley!" The criminal genius protested, clasping his belly. If John had been upset before, now he was livid. "SHERLOCK, YOU IDIOT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT PSYCHOPATH? AND IS HE... Oh, God... Sherlock..." John's eyes were dinner plates as he stared in horror and wonder at the miracle of "science" (technically leprechaun magic) before him. James Moriarty, spread eagled on the floor, arms around the evidence of his pregnancy. Sherlock Holmes shuffling off him awkwardly, as if trying not to draw anymore attention. It wasn't working well. Mrs Hudson ran in, barely able to contain herself. "Oh, Sherlock!" She trilled. "How lovely for you; he's a keeper! But what about John?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John is heterosexual. He repeatedly reminds you of this aspect of his life whenever you tease him about it." The landlady pouted."Ohhh, Sherlock... Give him time. He's probably just nervous." John ran out, terrified. Pause. "See?" Mrs Hudson giggled uneasily. "He's juuuust anxious... He'll come round, I'm sure..."

{Heh heh, that was fun to write... Review, my potatoes...}


	10. December 10th: Kosta (Thoshei?)

{On the 10th day of December, the plot bunnies gave to me,

A fluffy texting and scones Theta/Koschei... (Okay, that didn't rhyme at all, but it was closer than Doctor/Master)}

(For Wren xx) Five and Ainley, cause they are adorabléz...

_Hello, my dear..._

_Master?! How did you even get this number? TS_

_Oh, so you're going by "Theta" again now? Remembering the old days at the academy, are we? K xx_

_Well... Perhaps. But more importantly, how did you get my number? And since when did you care for earth technology? TS_

_Oh, my dear Doctor... If only you knew... K xx_

_What is that supposed to mean?! Should I be scared? TS_

_Very. K xx_

_And I have my ways, darling. You of all people should know that... K xx_

_Ah... Are you plotting again? TS_

_And "darling"? Really? TS_

_Of course. Fine. Poppet. K xx_

_Rassilon, no! That's dreadful. "Dear" is perfectly acceptable. Or you could simply try calling me "Doctor". Everyone else seems to manage it! TS x_

_Ha! A kiss! I am already winning! K xx_

_Oh, don't be silly. It's only a letter in English. TS x_

_If you say so, celery boy. K xx_

_Well, you are no better, with your ridiculous moustache! TS_

_You look like a striped earth sweet! The type eaten at winter feasts! K_

_All that black velvet! You look like a bin bag! TS_

_You wound me! At least I don't have half a cat on my head! K_

_Excuse me?! I thought you liked my hair! TS_

_And how do you know what a cat is?! TS_

_Well... It is tolerable, I suppose. But far too fluffy. And cats are a brilliant creation. Wonderful creatures. K xx_

_Have you been researching Earth for me? TS_

_Certainly not! I mean, yes, I have, but definitely not for you! Why would I be interested in such a primitive planet? K_

_Oh, you sweetie... TS xx_

_..._

_..._

_Right. Shall we stick to "dear"? K xx_

_I think that would be wise, dear. TS xx_

_..._

_..._

_I made scones... K xx_

_Where are you? I'm coming over right now. TS xx_

i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!

{Part two, maybe? Review!}


	11. December 11th: Martha's Crisis

{On the 11th day of December, a high functioning sociopath gave to me, The Mairtha Chronicles part 3! (Hey, it almost rhymed, didn't it?)}

This is very, very weird, just a friendly warning... Not much me in it, mostly Martha having a bit of a breakdown...

After watching seven hours of Doctor Who, Martha was mildly alarmed that Maia had still not returned. She was about to watch the next episode when something caught her eye on the Fandomverse Map... The light blue blob that represented her friend had been joined by a lime green blob that was following her around. Martha's eyes widened in astonishment. There was a frog tailing Maia... She reached up to turn on her earring communicator, better known as an ECHO, or Susan Betty Smith VI, according to Maia. Unfortunately, before she could connect it, the green blot had vanished. She cursed softly under her breath.

Suddenly, something else took the air from her lungs. There was something wrong with the slash pairings. Oh no, no, no...

Moriarty was pregnant, she knew that. Jack was pregnant, she knew that. But now everyone seemed to be pregnant! Mycroft... She searched quickly for his medical condition. No, no, he was clear... Snap! Pregnant! Nico? He was fine. Percy? Pregnant! Harry was fine... Snap! Ron was pregnant. The Master was normal... Snap! Pregnant! Snap! So was the Doctor! Martha hid her face in her palms. What was happening?! At least nothing was wrong with the femslash pairings... Immediately, Martha regretted thinking it. Snap! Vastra - pregnant. Snap! Morgana AND Gwen were both pregnant! "NOOOOOOOO!" Martha yelled. "What is wrong with liiiiiiiiiiife?" When she finally allowed herself to look again, she noticed that now it wasn't just the slash ships. Peeta was pregnant. Thor was pregnant. ODIN was pregnant. Phil Coulson was pregnant... Rory was pregnant - Amy found it hilarious... Four and Tris were BOTH pregnant. Spike was pregnant while Buffy laughed in hysterics. Neville and Luna as well as Hermione and Draco seemed to have avoided the pregnancy curse thus far, Martha hoped their luck would continue... Arthur was pregnant, blaming Morgana's witchcraft again...

And worst of all...

MAIA WAS PREGNANT. Martha's face resembled a startled earwig.

{Nuuuuu... EVERYONE'S PREGNANT!}


	12. December 12th: Laia!

{On the 12th day of December, the pixies gave to me, what Maia was up to yesterday... (while Martha had a meltdown)}

Maia was, to put it simply, annoying the hell out of everyone in Asgard (why not!)

Moggie had left after being made to watch Doctor Who AGAIN. Maia was bored. It could be fun to try shooting the wall, but the only thing she had on her were some turquoise paperclips (Morgan had confiscated Doctor Who... The horror...!). She could go back and see Martha, but she would probably yell at her for the Mystrade thing. It had been funny, though. Definitely worth it.

She'd kicked her feet for a bit, before deciding to arrange the books on Morgan's bookshelf so that the first letter of the titles spelled out "die Rose Tyler, die". After amusing herself ridiculously, she had strolled out into the rest of the palace, exploring. She'd found Thor, smooching with Jane in the royal gardens. Their faces were so close together that she wouldn't have been quite sure who's hair was who's, had it not been for the colour. Thor's golden locks stood out from a mile away.

She grinned, concentrating on the blond hair. Seconds later, Thor's Barbie hair turned an unmistakable shade of neon pink. She giggled. Hidden behind a bush laden with heavily perfumed black flowers, she could change Jane's hair as well without being caught. A nice spring green ought to do it... Maia watched in fascination as the brunette became a greenette? Vertette? She settled with "grunette". "I see you have been practising, mortal." A teasing voice, dark with humour in her ear. She laughed without turning. "Would you believe me if I said no?" Loki smirked. She could sense it from the silence. He always had a dry remark. Of course, unless he was wearing that smirk... "Come. They'll notice any moment." He took her hand surprisingly, tugging her away from the flower shrubs. They both noticed the unusual tension. Neither commented. "So, have you been good while I was away?" Maia teased, to break the pause. The God of Mischief laughed. Not one of his closed, sarcastic laughs, but a real one. Relaxed and open. She smiled and squeezed the ivory fingers clasped around her own. He squeezed back gently. "Oh, very good, my lady." She didn't believe that grin for a second. "Of course. You would never step out of line, would you? Moggie has been telling me such dreadful lies!" They both laughed, swinging their joined hands as they moved. There was an enraged roar from behind them. Loki met her eyes and his grin broadened. "Run?" "Run." She agreed. They sprinted off towards the palace, Thor yelling after them, louder than a Frost Giant. When they reached the doors, spluttering and choking with laughter, hair everywhere, the shouts of the apoplectic Thunder God muffled in the distance, Loki turned to her, pushing the dark curls out of her face. Both of their faces were flushed; from the chill and the chase. He bit his lip; looking like he meant to lean in. Their faces were only inches apart. He pulled back, smile suddenly back in place. "Come, my lady. Let us cause havoc in the name of mischief!" Maia rolled her eyes and smiled back. "You're doing that deliberately, you naughty thing... But it worked." Loki quirked an eyebrow. "I have gained your affections, my lady?" His face was serious, however she knew that gleam in his emerald eyes to mean trouble. "No, thou knave. Do not jest with me! Thou sounds like thy brother, Thor. Thou art doing this on purpos-eth." Um... Thou art jesting about Thor... Eth." She added as an afterthought. Loki pretended to look confused. "Methinks the lady dost protest too much..." Maia grinned. "I know for sure you didn't come up with that one..."

{Part 2 tomorrow cause I'm too lazy to do it properly}


	13. December 13th: Laia: The Mystery Caller

{On the thirteenth day of December (haha! .doctors) Lazy Maia gave to you, "What Maia Was Up To", part 2!}

She had almost kissed him.

Almost, because before she could, Mjollnir had slammed into the column in between them, driving a long scar like the cracks in a dry riverbed into the once pristine pillar. His eyes had widened. Whether in fear or in excitement, she did not have time to find out. He grabbed her hand. "Run?" Thor's roars (I'm a poet - yay!) were getting closer. Maia gulped. "Run!" They took off yet again.

Hand in hand they ran, dodging busy maidservants and avoiding tripping over priceless furniture, once knocking into the Asgardian queen herself - "Children! Really!" Apologising over her shoulder, Maia caught sight of Goldilocks pelting towards them... Like the gentleman he was, Thor had stopped and made sure Queen Frigga was unhurt.

The air was ripped from her lungs as Loki yanked her around another corner. The palace seemed to made of corners only... They tumbled into the throne room, breathing ragged and harsh in the silence of the gilded chamber. The All-Father glared at his son. "Loki." The deep voice rumbled with disdain. "Father..." She turned to see Loki kneeling in respect behind her. Odin threw her a look that was part clear dislike and part amused curiosity. She remained standing, folding her arms in defiance. "Loki, you will leave. I will speak to the...mortal." The young God of Mischief and Lies got to his feet, bemused. Maia sighed dramatically. "I'm bored now..." She whirled around with a flourish, looping her arms around the prince, tipping him back gently and placing an audacious kiss to his lips. He blinked at her in shock. She set him back to his feet, smirked at Odin, and dematerialized just as Thor came thundering in (no pun intended, heh heh...).

When Maia reappeared, she was surprised to see Martha wailing and hiding her eyes on the floor. Then again, she wasn't all that surprised. In their line of work, this was an all too regular occurrence.

"Martha..." The younger girl sat up straight, deducing finger pointed right in her face. "Maia. Mysterious pregnancies. Various fandoms. Seemingly unlinked, apart from the genders. Slash and femslash ships. At least to start off with. Now! Changes, Maia, changes." The brunette thought for a second. "Sexual relationships?" Martha groaned. "You tell me, Miss Pregnant-and-I-don't-even-know-it..." Maia's eyes bulged. "I... What?!" Martha's blue eyes narrowed. "You tell me." She repeated. "Been messing about with the mortals again, have we?" Maia flushed. "He's not exactly... Well, mortal! And I haven't done anything! Nothing at all!" Martha stalked towards her friend, smirk fixes firmly in place. "I know something, Maia. You're going to have to listen..." The loud pealing of one of the many phones broke into the tension. Martha winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. She picked it up. "Hello...?" Maia grinned. "I'm listening..." Martha shushed her, frantically straining to hear the person on the other end. "How did you get this number?" She enquired suspiciously. "Really?" Pause. "Tell me in five words. I need to know if you're telling the truth. Five. Yes, five words!" Pause. "And who did you say was calling?" The fair haired girl was even more suspicious now. Pause. "What?! The... No way. No way. No WAY!" Martha dropped the device. It hit the floor with a dull clunk. She followed soon after, head hitting the floor loudly, worryingly, a blissful smile playing on her lips. Maia surged towards her, yelling her name.

It was no use. The game had started, and there was no stopping it now.

{Ooh, cliffie... To be continued, tomorrow, or not...}


	14. December 14th: Disaster 2

{On the 14th day of December an annoying person gave to yoooou,

Some filler chapter Doctor/Master=Disaster stuff toooo

(Not quite sure what that was about...)}

"Doctor?" He turned to face his oldest companion. "Something's not right..."

The Master stood in the centre of the room, clutching the TARDIS console for support. The Doctor noted his shaking hands and colourless face and creased his brow, stepping carefully towards the other Time Lord. The time machine whined as it shook, juddering and jolting violently. Stumbling wildly, the Doctor's eyes widened and he clasped his abdomen protectively as he crashed gracelessly to the floor.

When he came to, he was lying half in, half out of bed, head ringing, hearts pounding madly. The Master was nowhere in sight. The younger Time Lord swallowed, easing one stiff leg and then the other over the frame of the bed, avoiding the clutter on the floor that was his side of the bedroom.

Absentmindedly, he pressed a hand to his churning stomach. He nearly jumped in surprise at his discovery. There was a recently created telepathic connection inside him... His hand twitched unconsciously as the young psychic field latched on to his own with an ease that made him anxious. He had no time to be astonished or fearful. *Daddy?* He froze. It -whatever it was- was speaking to him. Through him. In perfect Gallifreyan. High Gallifreyan, to be precise. *Daddy?* Daddy? What was "Daddy"? A new title? Some strange Earth miscommunication? *Daddy?!* Not it, she. She was female, and young... Very young. Almost... Almost too young... No way. Absolutely no way. This was impossible. He inhaled sharply as the little girl called again, the tiny voice pitifully familiar in the back of his head. He made up his mind quickly. *Hello...?* He felt it smiling. Her. She was happy, whatever she was. A feeling of dread coursed through him as something he knew was not his imagination moved slightly inside him. His right hand flew to join the other on his stomach. Daddy!  
>The Doctor's mouth dropped wide open. Something was definitely wrong. Very, very wrong...<p>

{Sorry it is short... asterisks only because the italics are being messed up today... 8-( }


	15. December 15th: Mairtha Chronicles Part 4

{On the 15th of December, Martha forced me to write(eeeeeee) from where I left off for a cliffie... (Wut. That doesn't rhyme in the slightest)}

There was a crackling from the phone. The device lay undamaged on the floor - a fluffy blue carpet named Stationary Voucher that Maia adored. Unfortunately, Martha was unconscious. If she hadn't been, she would have been yelled at for harming the precious rug. As she was, passed out on the floor, grinning away, she was relatively safe. Relatively, because Maia could change her mind and draw a moustache in permanent marker on her lip at any moment... Not that she would ever do such a thing, of course... Martha was in a Fandom Coma. There was only one way to get out of one of those... Rolling her eyes, Maia rushed to the cabinet of scents. The Victorians had been halfway right with the idea of smelling salts... The only thing that can bring a person out of a Fandom Coma is the perfume of a pairing they approve of. Knocking bottles over left, right and centre, Maia finally grasped the bottle she needed. A purpley-blue shimmering liquid sloshed inside lazily. She ran back to her fallen friend, spraying a light drizzle of Essence of Dramione onto her face. Martha immediately began choking and spluttering, waving her arms madly and screeching in terror. Maia frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen... She checked the label. Ohhh... Essence of Johnlock, the fine print read. Oops... That was why Martha was asphyxiating... She crossed the room in five long strides, grabbing the vial that read Dramione (she checked this time...). A few quick squirts of the fragrance later, and Martha had relaxed. "Aaaah, lovelyyy, fluffyyy... Flufffffffff..." Maia smiled in relief. Hopefully she would wake up now... Suddenly, Martha's eyes bugged and shot open. "Blerrrghhh! SMUT!"

Maia couldn't stop laughing...

Half an hour later, after peach tea (the only tea Maia would drink) and crumpets ('cause yuuuuum...), Martha was finally ready to talk about her "terrifying" ordeal. The younger girl cleared her throat dramatically and adjusted the long stripy scarf adorning her shoulders. Maia rolled her eyes. She was sulking. Martha didn't care. She carried on. "Well, the phone rang, and I answered it." Maia pouted. "No waaaaay..." Martha glared at her. "Shut up. And so I picked it up, and their was a boy on the other end..."

Maia immediately brightened up, sitting up straighter and pushing back her hair. Now Martha rolled her eyes. "So I asked him..."

*le flashback time*

"How did you get this number?" Martha was immediately on her guard. "The woman said it was a helpline, miss?" Martha furrowed her brow. "Really?" The boy's voice was quite a bit deeper than hers but not gravelly, more soft and gentle... Martha mentally slapped herself. Maia was supposed to be the boy-crazy one! She was the sensible one! She almost missed his next sentence, she was so distracted by her conflicted thoughts... She interrupted quickly. "Tell me in five words. I need to know if you're telling the truth. Five. Yes, five words!" She demanded, startling him. "Um..." "That's one!" "The... Districts... Need... Help...?" It was more of a question than a statement. Good. It showed that he was nervous, that she had not lost her touch... "And who did you say was calling?" Martha enquired, suspicious and nervous. Oh, no, no, no... More unrest in Panem? She had all that Marvel and Torchwood paperwork to finish, and with the crazy pregnancies, things were getting out of hand...

"My name is Sherlock, Miss. Sherlock Leo Valdez." Martha gripped the phone hard and her heart stopped for a second. "What?" She tried to calm her breathing. "No way. The...? No way. No way. NO WAY!" A huge cheesy grin broke out on her face. She felt her knees buckle beneath her. The last thing she heard before her head hit the ground were two voices intermingling. Sherlock/Leo's velvety voice through the phone, and Maia screaming her name.

*end of le flashback time*

Maia nearly choked on her tea. The steaming liquid flew up onto her top, leaving a dark patch on the blue fabric. "I'd love to have a battle of wits, but it appears you are unarmed", the shirt read. Martha grinned. "Where did you get that top?" She laughed. Maia scowled. "Never mind that, are you going to ring Sherlock/Leo back?!" Martha jumped up in alarm, jolting the tea cups. Maia clutched the un/chipped mugs to her chest protectively. (The chipped one is Martha's... She has no respect for teacups...) "Mind the teacups!" She shrieked. Martha wasn't listening. She had already grabbed the phone, relieved at the sound of an anxious voice still crackling out of the device. "Um... Hello?" "Sherlock! Or Leo! Which do you prefer?" He exhaled in relief. "Well, you see Sherlock Leo Valdez is a codename... We all have them in District 13, Miss... I can tell you my real name face to face, if you like, but we need your assistance in this matter. It's urgent." Martha paled significantly. "And what would this matter be?" Sherlock/Leo gulped carefully. "The kidnapping of Peeta Mellark and his unborn child, Miss..."

{Dun dun duuuuuun...}


	16. December 16th: Sheriartyyy

{On the 16th of December, the plot pixes threw at meeeeee,

A ridiculous fluffy Sheriartyyy...

(Just pretend it's Disaster, Martha...)}

Upon hearing footsteps on the landing, Sherlock looked up from his ever growing amoebae. He didn't turn around. He wouldn't let anyone live with the knowledge, but truth be told, he was anxious.

Who would believe that the great consulting detective was shy?

"Look. I need to explain my emotional situation to you. This is not my best suit. Please be patient with me... dear. I do believe that there is something wrong with me. Whenever you're around, my heart races. It's not just the murders. I think that I... There is a possibility that I... I might have feelings... I have feelings of a romantic kind for... For you, perhaps... I am quite new to this whole love thing... Will you give me a chance, my dear J-" Sherlock turned around abruptly at the sound of breaking china.

John stood on the landing, mouth wide open in disbelief. Sherlock's ivory features flushed scarlet. "No, not you!" He all but shrieked. "I thought you were... Someone else!" "Oh, Sherley!" A heavily pregnant Jim Moriarty dropped from the ceiling (who knew what he was doing up there...) Sherlock's already pink cheeks bloomed like summer roses(?). Moriarty beamed. "James..." Sherlock muttered, face burning. Moriarty threw his arms around Sherlock's neck, kissing him passionately. John watched in horror. He rubbed his neck awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to the situation. He decided to busy himself with tea, bustling about clanking teacups noisily.

When he came back in, Sherlock was still bright red, though the two consultants had separated. There was something shiny around his neck... John sighed. "Sherlock, what the hell is that?" The detective glared at him, stowing the silver chain beneath his shirt. Moriarty smirked gleefully. "Oh, important news!" He said, seriously. He placed a hand to his swollen belly gingerly. "Something's different... Aeryn-Finn has been growing, fast. The symptoms and processes are far too advanced for four months. If I didn't know how developed the pregnancy was, I'd say seven or eight months..." John was interested now, although he found the way Moriarty referred to the baby as "Aeryn-Finn", as though he hadn't quite decided, supremely annoying.

"Biological catalyst." Sherlock remarked coolly. John reluctantly agreed to examine the "patient". It was true; Moriarty appeared closer to eight months than the four he'd spent pregnant. John sat back up. "Moriarty-" "Jim." The criminal insisted. "Jim, then. Try swimming rather than running. You're heavily pregnant, developed at around eight months. You could give birth at any time, don't overexert yourself, take a break from planning murders, or whatever." John sighed reluctantly, running his hands through his greying hair. "And I suppose..." He gulped. nervously. "Stay here until you give birth. You'll be safe here. Just... Don't explode any more tables... Or anything else..."

Jim smirked. "Of course not."

Pause.

"And what does Sherlock have around his neck?"

Both consultants blushed. "Oh, would you look at the time?" Sherlock laughed nervously.

"I have to go and... Um... Shower..." Moriarty said unsubtly. "Yes! So do I!" Sherlock leaped up from the table, dragging Moriarty with him.

John rolled his eyes. He would solve this mystery... Sherlock wasn't the only one with half a brain...


	17. December 17th: Dramioneeeeeeee

{On the 17th of December, Martha demanded of meeeeee, some non creepy, non smutty Dramione...}

The parchment sent out a burst of heat that made her jump. It was not hot enough to actually harm her, of course, merely to surprise her. She shot a glare at the Slytherin side of the room, to where he was surely smirking away... Surprisingly, the silver-blond head was bent over his books, quill scrawling away.

Elegant green cursive appeared on the page, staying long enough for her to read each word before fading slowly away. *Granger... Do you know how many days are left until Christmas?* So he was being childish, now, was he? She sighed, pressing her quill to the yellowing brown parchment and quickly penned a reply.

*No, Malfoy, I don't. Pray enlighten me? HG* Hermione looked back up to the front of the room, where Professor Binns was floating haphazardly, enchanting the chalk to write everything he was droning on about on the board. Goblin wars and elf enslavement, yet again. She was interested. She really was. Just... Binns' dreadfully tedious lectures were drilling into her skull painfully... They had exams in less than three months, though! She needed to keep up with everything! She gave a tiny squeak of surprise as the paper burned again for a second. A few heads turned. She pretended to pick up her quill from her lap, smiling apologetically. The nosy pupils turned back to the snoozefest before them. She sighed slightly, turning to her paper. *Eight! Only eight days. Are you feeling Christmassy yet? X* With a grimace, Hermione noted the cheery response and the kiss at the end. *Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy? HG* She scribbled snarkily. From the other side of the room, Malfoy looked up from his "work", flashing her a devilish smirk and a flirtatious wink. She rolled her eyes, failing to hide the blush that flooded her cheeks. Next to Draco, Blaise Zabini was laughing silently, clutching the table for support. Malfoy reached over to Blaise, wrestling the parchment away from him. Ah. That was why Draco seemed high on powdered dragon scales... *Granger... Are the Heads planning a ball this year? DM*

Hermione pulled her paper out of Ron's view; the redhead was getting uncomfortably close. *We are the Heads, you numbskull! HG* She met his eyes from across the room and he grinned. *Perhaps so, but when do I ever organise anything, Granger? ;) DM* She giggled quietly. Ron shot her a suspicious look. Harry smiled blithely at her. "You okay, 'Mione?" He asked. She smiled warmly at the raven haired boy. "Yes, just had a funny thought.." Harry grinned. "Oh, good. I thought you were all stressed out about the Christmas Ball stuff..." She squeezed her best friend's hand warmly. "No, I'm fine. I've got it under control."

*Well, I suppose not, Malfoy... But you are going to have to at some point... HG xx*

The paper warmed her hand immediately after she'd written. *Don't the Heads have to go together? DM xx* Hermione beamed. She looked over at him. "Yes! Of course, you idiot!" She mouthed.

{Yeah, yeah, short I know. I'm tiiiiiired... :( }


	18. December 18th: Percico!

{On the 18th day of December, Bob Marley (well, why not?) gave to yoooooou, a fluffy little Percico... (I know it's solangelo, but I was like WHYYYYYYYY, so this is my mental PJO lovechild)} *shut up, it's a cool word... **yeah, yeah. I haven't read the books in FOREVER...

EVERYONE IS OOC... MUAHAHAHAHA!

Percy was sloshed*.

He wasn't quite sure when he'd started drinking, or why, but as he stumbled down the corridors of the Argo II, he knew there was probably a stupid reason for it.

Crashing to the floor, he clutched at Riptide, swatting at imaginary adversaries. Percy felt that attempting to stand would be futile. He decided to crawl the rest of the way, wherever he was going... His head swirled with a combination of alcohol and ecstasy. He knew that there was probably a stupid grin on his face, but really, he didn't care. Life was great! He managed to tumble up the stairs somehow, bursting into the room** where Coach Hedge and the other demigods were doing something boring, probably preparing for battle or something... He managed to stagger in sideways, before falling into the Coach's outstretched arms with a flop. "Ooh, you saaaaved me..." Percy giggled batting his lashes as he was dropped in shock. The other demigods stared at him in disbelief. Leo actually dropped his spanner. Percy was busy making a no-Snow Angel humming along to - was that Under the Sea?! Hazel's mouth hung open while Piper giggled nervously. Annabeth hid her face in shame.

Between them, Jason and Nico managed to half carry, half drag Percy into his cabin. Percy's eyes had rolled back into his head and he was snoring loudly... Jason heaved the Son of Poseidon onto the bed, while the ebony haired younger boy got water and a blanket. Nico was just spreading the blue blanket over the sleeping demigod, when the forementioned boy's sea-green eyes shot open, scrutinising him carefully - clearly. He barely looked intoxicated at all... In fact...

Nico had a sneaking suspicion that there was something going on that he hadn't been a part of... He turned to see Jason's retreating back and the door locking behind him. The Son of Hades' pale cheeks began to burn.

How dare Jason try to set him up with Percy?! Percy had Annabeth! Percy was straighter than an iron bar! Percy was the hero; Percy was someone, while Nico was no one...

Percy was... kissing him?! Nico's eyes widened.

He blinked a couple of times. It was not a dream. His dreams were never this good. Good, no. This was... Amazing...

Percy pulled back suddenly, snapping him out of his reverie.

Nico blinked. Percy gave him a shy grin. There was not a trace of alcohol on his breath, nor did he show any signs of drunkeness... The Son of Hades narrowed his eyes. "You cheated on Annabeth." He stated coldly, though he failed to hide the rapidly spreading pink in his cheeks.

Percy blushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

Why was he so damn cute? Nico's tortured brain screamed.

"I'll tell her tomorrow... Things aren't really... Working out. Besides..." He gave Nico a roguish grin that made his insides do flip flops... "I was drunk, (he exaggerated the word "drunk") and I kissed you, decided I liked it and then we became a thing!" Nico's glare could have slaughtered billions. Percy merely beamed. He leaned in, pressing his lips against Nico's gently; Nico was fighting a losing battle to resist.

When Jason came back with a camera, the demigods didn't care. They however, did mind apparently when the video taken was splashed all over YouTube as "Adorable! My Gay Best Friends". Result? "GRACE! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

{Urghhh, this chapter was rubbish... If anyone actually liked it, please review. If not (moi included) review how I can improve it! Maia x x}


	19. December 19th: Disaster 3

{On the 19th of December, Martha threw at yoooooou, a Time Lord baby's coo...}

December 14th, 2014, possibly.

The Doctor had fainted.

That would have most probably been the funniest sentence the Master had ever heard, had it not been so pitifully worrying.

He'd gone soft.

First marrying your best enemy, and then worrying about him?

What was his world coming to?

The rogue Time Lord had struggled to drag him back to their bedroom, depositing him on the bed, before racking his brains to recall what had been so very important earlier...

Something fluttered in his stomach.

That wasn't right...

Could he possibly...?

The Master dashed out of the room, almost sprinting towards his laboratory.

December 19th, 2014, perhaps.

He was pregnant.

A girl.

A tiny, perfect Time Lady.

Growing inside him.

Him!

The Master of Death felt like crying.

He was overjoyed.

Only one thing scarred his bliss.

"KOSCHEI!" The Doctor bawled. The Master sighed, rubbing his swollen stomach gently. With his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, my dear?" The Doctor sniffled, tumbling into the room and into the Master's arms.

The blond awkwardly patted the younger man's spiky crazed hair. "What is the matter, Doctor?" He had learned to be patient with his husband's antics. After all, they were practically going through the same hell, in his opinion.

"I feel..." The Master's forehead crinkled and he placed a hand on the other's temple.

"I FEEL FAT..." The Doctor sobbed. The Master frowned. "Theta..."

The Doctor wailed noisily.

"Don't you 'Theta' me, Kos..."

Sighing, the older Time Lord stroked the Doctor's hair. "No, dear. You're beautiful. Stop crying. You're ruining my suit."

December 25th, 2014, ish.

The Doctor grinned madly, waving his Christmas cracker hard enough to poke someone's eye out. A pink paper hat perched in the spikes of his hair.

There was an odd assortment of people gathered around the surprising small table.

Opposite the Master; Martha. Probably not the best seating arrangement on the Doctor's part.

Next to her, Ianto and Jack were "sucking face" as Donna (on the Doctor's right) so charmingly described it.

On the the Doctor's left, his husband was sulking, next to him sat an awkward looking Wilfred and a seething Rose (who had been brought back by the author's convenience in order to be laughed at, like so: Ha. Ha. Ha)

"We have exciting news!"

Martha and Rose grimaced at the casual use of "we".

Wilfred perked up, looking delighted (bless him...). Donna smirked. The immortal and his coffee boy were oblivious (nudge nudge, wink wink, you know what I mean...)

Rose adjusted her red paper hat, pouting. "Well?" She demanded.

The Doctor's face split into an even bigger smile (if that was possible...).

"My se - um, I mean, the Master and I..." The Doctor blushed deeply.

Donna quirked a brow. "Is this what I think it is, Spaceman?" Martha's eyes bulged in anticipation and dread. "Are you getting married?!" Rose howled. The Doctor looked puzzled. "No, Rose. Been there, done that." He held up his left hand; a simple silver band adorned with a single deep blue-black shimmering stone sparkled on his ring finger.

The blonde burst into tears.

"Oh, well, sorry Rose. It would never have worked put anyway! You were human; you would have died and -" The Doctor's apologetic blibbering was cut short.

"Spaceman... Now. Tell all." The dark haired Time Lord was bemused for a second.

"Ah! The news! Well, you aren't going to believe this, but..."

Jack and Ianto had separated by then and shared a knowing look. Ianto stroked the Captain's stomach gently as they watched the Doctor with a grin.

"I'm pregnant! Time Twins!"

There was a silence.

"Doctoooooor! I'm pregnant, too!" The Master whined.

The room burst into excited chatter and Rose and Martha clung to each other sobbing.

Wilfred lifted his wine glass in a toast. "To the Time Tots!"

February 14th, 2015, definitely...

"Doctoooooor..."

The Doctor rolled over sleepily.

"Did I tell you I love you?"

His hearts stopped.

"No..." He was breathless.

"Well, I do."

The Master planted a soft kiss to his lips before rolling over.

"Goodnight."

The Doctor exhaled and tried to control his racing pulse.

"Goodnight, Master..."

He managed.

August 25th, 2015, probably.

"Master?"

The sandy haired Time Lord looked up at his husband worriedly.

"Darling. The baby's coming."

The Master nodded, heaving his own heavily pregnant form from where he sat, leaning against the Doctor's legs on his chair.

"Yes. I can feel a change. The baby's ready."

The Doctor peered anxiously at him, helping him to his feet. "Race you to the infirmary?" The Master said, smirking. The Doctor grinned. "Definitely." They waddled slowly towards the infirmary, supporting each other carefully.

As they travelled up the corridor, the TARDIS {at first spell check changed it to YANDIS - no idea what that means} shuffled the rooms closer, sensing the urgency of the matter.

Half an hour later, a junior nurse and a junior doctor both received a strange phone call.

Within ten minutes, Martha Jones and Rory Williams found themselves inside the TARDIS.

Unsure of what they were meant to be doing, the two exchanged an awkward glance. "ROOOOOORY! Maaaaartha!" They both sprinted into the hospital to find two pale Time Lords in opposite beds.

The Master groaned in agony.

"Do something! Stop acting like... Like pears!" The Doctor chipped in. "Please! The contractions have started..." Martha started searching for supplies. Rory stood gobsmacked {brilliant word}. "Hang on, what? I don't know you... And... Two men? In labour? And a spaceship?!" The Master rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we didn't ask for a display of your massive intellect! Just do something!" Martha threw up her hands in frustration. "How the hell do you give birth anyway?! I'm just going to do this traditionally, okay? Hot water, towels and a knife..." Rory gulped and ran to fetch hot water. Nobody questioned his intelligence this time.

"Fine!" The Master screamed. "Just please don't let us bleed to death!" The Doctor's pale face turned ashen. "What?!"

Martha waved her arms wildly. "Can't you just adapt your physiology, you're Time Lords, for Pete's sake!"

The Doctor nodded shakily.

The Master howled, "This Pete person has nothing to do with the watermelon currently coming out of my ****!"

*a lot of screaming and swearing later*

"THETA, YOU F***ING #* * * **£*, I'M NEVER SLEEPING WITH YOUR SORRY A*** EVER AGAIN!"

"KOSCHEI, YOU ABSOLUTE LEMON! I HAAAAATE YOU! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! I'M NEVER SLEEPING WITH YOU AGAIN, EITHER!"

"THEEEEETA..."

"KOSCHEEEEI..."

*terrified Rory*

"It's a girl Master, um, yay!"

*angsty Martha {Jones, not our Martha}*

"Twins, Doctor! Two boys! It's going to be hell!" *manic laugh*

"I'm sorry, Theta..."

"I love you, Kos..."

August 16th, 2015, we think.

The twins were tiny, wrinkled little things, barely recognisable as living beings.

The Doctor had insisted on naming them Geronimo and Allons-y.

It had helped matters that the Master had been asleep when the names had been given...

Now that the Destroyer of Worlds was awake, he had named his tiny daughter - "look, Kos, she's ginger!" - Willow.

The Doctor had sniffed.

He'd wanted her to be called Cecilia, after a song he'd heard recently on Earth...

Of course, the Master was having none of that.

Willow it was, and Willow it stayed.

Unlike the twins, Willow had bright green eyes and little tufts of flame-red baby fluff decorating her scalp.

Gerry and Ally were identical, except for the hair colour.

Geronimo had the Doctor's dark brown hair, whereas Allons-y had soft sandy curls which made the Master squeal (on the inside, of course...)

The birth had been difficult.

The twins were hard to deliver.

But the end result was worth the struggle and pain.

Except...

November 17th, 2015, most likely.

"Masteeeeer?"

The Master groaned and looked up, carefully juggling the task of holding two (finally...) sleeping twins and tuning the pages of his book with the other.

"Something awful's happened..."

The Master sighed. "Yes?"

"I'VE GOT STRETCH MARKS!"

{Review...}


	20. December 20th: Jantooo

{On the 20th of December (only 4 days left... Eeeek!) Martha inspired for yoooooou, some pregnant Jack Jantoooooo...}

Jack was in his third month of pregnancy.

He hadn't told Ianto before he'd proposed.

Scared, perhaps?

Of what the shy Welsh coffee boy would do if he found out?

Nah.

Besides, it was his insurance.

He hadn't needed it, of course; the gleaming ring on his boyfriend's finger had proved that.

Urgh...

The Captain felt a familiar clenching in his bladder...

Stupid pregnancy peeing...

Maybe he would go and see Owen...

Or the Doctor...

Yes, the pregnant Time Lord would probably be far more use...

Ah, but seeing the Doctor meant seeing the Master...

Jack shuddered.

Worth it or not...?

His stomach twisted in a way that was not completely the baby contained within as he recalled the many tortures and deaths he had experienced at the hands of the Doctor's husband...

Funny thing was, Jack remembered mentioning that the rogue Time Lord was just his type...

That had been before Ianto, of course. And the torture.

Ah, speaking of...

Ianto rushed into the room quickly, throwing a shopping bag hastily onto the table and planting a rushed kiss onto Jack's cheek.

"Ah, sorry, love... Have to run... Dangerous rift activity... Coffee's downstairs!" He panted all in one breath.

Jack grinned.

"Got me a present, Yan?"

Ianto smiled fondly.

"Maternity clothes..."

Jack wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, really, Mr Jones? I'll have to model them for you when I get back..."

Ianto blushed, rolling his eyes affectionately.

"Stop it... And it'll be 'Mr Harkness' soon... Anything else you want before I go?"

Jack's eyes lit up.

"I have a need for prawn crackers... And jelly babies... Lots of jelly babies..."

His fiancé smiled.

"Whatever you say, love. Got to go! Don't get into trouble... Is there any point of me telling you to be good?"

His reward was a scarily predatory smirk.

After a while just dithering and drinking coffee like a boss (he totally was), Jack decided, to hell with the Master, he was calling the Doctor.

When the time traveller finally picked up, screeching cries were audible in the background."Got yourself in trouble, Doc?" He laughed.

"Well, yes, he's in a bit of a tricky situation," the Master replied, coolly. Jack froze, gripping the phone. "Oh, hello, by the way, Captain. How is your little Welshman doing - Ian, was it?"

Jack swallowed, regaining his usual bravado.

"Ianto's good. Can I speak to your husband?"

The ex-psychopath chuckled.

"Hang on..."

Jack listened, incredulous.

"Theta!" The Master yelled. "Yes, I can hold Willow and Ally, you'll have to manage... It's Jack..."

The wailing grew louder.

There was an odd clunking sound.

"Doctor!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"Just go and talk to your Captain! I'll clear up, as usual!"

"Koschei..."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry!"

"You should be! *pause* I love you. Hurry up!"

"Love you too..."

Suddenly, the Doctor was on the phone.

"Jack! Excellent!"

He sounded exhausted.

"So... How was the birth, then?" The Doctor sighed.

"That good?" Jack quipped. "Mm... It was... Not too bad."

He was lying.

Jack decided not to comment.

"So twins, then?"

"Oh, yes! And a daughter! You should see them... So lovely... But loud. Screaming all the time... They never sleep... I can't get them to shut up at all... Kos is the only one who can make them stop and sleep..."

Jack paled. "Riiight..."

The Doctor sighed.

"Listen, please could you call back? I just need to sort something out, alright?"

"Oh, sure! I just wanted to know if you still had that scarf of yours..."

His reply was the groaning of the engine as the TARDIS materialised in his bedroom.

A long stripy scarf was chucked in his general direction before the blue box disappeared and the line went dead.

Ianto was shattered...

Jack had elected him as "The Boss" while he was on maternity leave...

Apparently it would do for Cardiff to see a heavily pregnant man running around defeating aliens...

Defeating aliens?

Absolutely fine.

Pregnant man?

Definitely not.

As he took off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen, he noticed a pink Post-it note on the kettle. Smiling, he pulled it off and filled the kettle with water. He curled his fingers around the paper before sticking it to his favourite coffee mug, the one with the picture of him and Jack pulling ridiculous faces on last year's Valentine's Day.

He almost dropped the cup when he saw the note.

It was a drawing, captioned "I'm waiting..."

A very detailed one.

Very, very detailed...

Ianto desperately attempted to calm his racing heart as he watched the water bubbling.

When the water had boiled, he rushed to grab the coffee granules and milk, making the hot drink faster than ever before.

He ripped open the packet of jelly babies, pouring them into a heart shaped bowl before deciding against it and sticking them in a plain white paper bag. Jack would probably find the bowl kinky, and then something disgraceful and out of his control might happen...

Not, of course, that that wasn't likely to happen anyway...

When Ianto finally reached the bedroom, he paused before opening the door. He glanced down at the neon pink paper, blushing and throwing open the door.

Inside, the 51st century man was grinning, evidently pleased by the flush in his fiancé's cheeks.

"Did you bring my jelly babies?" He demanded sweetly.

For the second time that day, Ianto almost dropped his coffee.

His mouth hung open and he stared.

Jack was wearing the fourth incarnation of the Doctor's scarf.

Yup.

Just the scarf.

{Muahahahaha, to continue or not to continue?}


	21. December 21st: Marleo

{On the 21st of December, the fan fairies gave to meeeeee,

a short (I'm tired, sue me!) adventure in Martha's flirting skills... (It doesn't rhyme. I don't care...)}

He gave her a worried glance as she fluttered her eyelashes madly for the third time that day. "Is there something in your eye, Miss? Can I help?"

Inside Martha was dying slowly. She was in District 13, trying to gain information from her contact, codename Sherlock Leo Valdez, aka "call-me-Leo".

Despite the awesome name mash up, Sherlock/Leo was nothing like either of his namesakes...

Well...

He was into tinkering with mechanics and obsessed with crime novels, but he was sweet, warm and kind, unlike his genius namesake.

He was an awful lot more like Leo, she realised. He made her laugh, too...

She realised that she'd been staring at his dimples in silence for at least ten minutes...

He blinked slowly as she looked back at him abruptly.

"I deduce..." She proclaimed in her most impressive voice, "That you are almost definitely not a Frog." He grinned sheepishly. "Do you like pizza?" She added as an afterthought.

"Pizza, miss?" *gasp!*

That had to be sorted immediately.

Martha grabbed his hand determinedly. "Come on you..."

Leo blushed, messing his unruly hair further with his other hand. "That's quite sexy, you know... Always did love a bad girl..."

Martha turned away to hide the massive grin spreading over her face. She was about two seconds away from performing a Maia style victory dance...

{Yes, I know nothing much happened. As long as Martha's happy, we are all safe...}


	22. December 22nd: Voldemort's Hat incompl

{On the 21st of December,

I was stuck for ideas...

So Martha kindly wrote the intro!}

Voldemort sat in front of the grimy mirror, Nagini winding around his thin shoulders. He looked like an egg. A very green egg with a face. And no nose. Ok, maybe not an egg, but something not human. He wasn't immortal either, so what did that make him? Nothing. Just nothing. He needed something that would wow his enemies, send them reeling back in shock, he needed... A disguise...

Draco had been waiting for Hermione for aaages, just waiting for her with his present, on her bed. Not in her bed, he was just perched on the edge, waiting for her to arrive. Suddenly, there was a knock on the dormitory door. *Who knocks for a dormitory?* he thought, but got up to answer it nonetheless. Outside there was a man, towering above him. He looked up at him, trying to ignore the purple and orange poncho, and the huge sombrero atop an eggish head. Eggish. Warning bells flashed in his head, but he tried to suppress them... Lord Voldemort would never wear a sombrero!

{Omega's pants... I'm so lazy. I think I will continue Martha's lovely story when I edit this whole thing after Christmas...}


	23. December 23rd: All the Babies!

{Oooooh, last day tomorrow... On the 23rd of December,

I actually wrote this before 23:45?! It's a miracle!}

[This is kinda the general baby overview... Bleeped out swearyness...]

Ianto winced.

"Jack..."

He heard the distinctive wet crack of breaking bones before he realised it was his own fingers.

There wasn't time for him to feel the pain.

Jack needed him now.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The hospital noises around him filled his head with doubts.

What if Jack didn't survive?

Of course he would!

He was immortal...

Yes, but what if this was the one time...

He was wrenched from his thoughts by a particularly painful clutch at his limp fingers.

"Yan? Stay here!"

The Captain wailed.

Jack's legs bucked up involuntarily as another violent contraction hit him.

"It's okay now, Jack. I've done this before... Twice!"

Ianto smiled weakly at an enthusiastic Martha Jones.

"That's good, then..."

Jack howled out a string of alien cursewords, grasping at his fiancé's near useless hand.

Martha noticed, gently prising the immortal's impossible grip away from his human lover.

Ianto sucked in his ragged breath.

Ouch was the understatement of the year...

Jack writhed around, reaching out for him.

Martha shoved Ianto out of the way; "Go and get your hand seen to!"

Ianto was hesitant.

Martha booted him out, leaving him no choice in the matter...

No more than ten minutes later, a patched up Ianto rushed back into the room.

Jack was breathing heavily; gazing around anxiously.

Owen was carrying a small bundle in his arms. A small shrieking, very alive bundle.

Ianto was torn between running to Jack and his baby...

Martha yet again gave him no choice.

He soon found himself sprawled awkwardly on top of Jack's legs.

"Hey, handsome..."

Jack's voice was shaky, rasping and exhausted but flooded with pride and love.

Ianto scrambled to his feet, squeezing Jack's fingers with his non mashed hand.

"Hey, cariad..."

Jack sighed, stroking the pale fingers threaded through his own.

"A boy. A mini-us..."

Ianto couldn't stop grinning.

Suddenly, there was a yelp from behind them.

"Sh*t!" Screamed Owen.

Ianto whirled around.

The colour drained from his face.

That wasn't right.

That wasn't happening.

His baby - his son - still on the floor...

"Oh, god... Oh, god..." Owen wailed.

Martha retched, Ianto screamed; Jack roared (like a sexay lion...).

"OWEN! YOU LITTLE -" The formerly pregnant immortal choked on air.

Owen fainted.

Martha tutted, before rushing into action.

"Still breathing! He'll be okay... I hope."

Jack clung to his fiancé.

Martha gasped.

"Something's happening!"

The baby twitched.

"His heart! It's stopped!"

The fathers watched in terror as the baby coughed and choked.

Martha turned back to them.

"But... That's impossible..."

Suddenly, the baby was crying again, as if nothing had changed.

"I don't believe it... He's fine. The scan says there's nothing wrong with him... Slight colic, but that's babies for you..."

Ianto tackled his boss to the bed, crashing their lips together in a victory kiss.

After what seemed like an age to Martha, they pulled apart, beaming like maniacs.

"Names, love?"

Jack thought for a second.

"How about... Daniel Radcliffe Harkness?"

Ianto's glare was answer enough.

"Okaaay, what about Eric? Lloyd? Bob Marley Junior? Derek! Theta Sigma? Jimbob? Doctor? Elvis! Sebastiano? Benedict! Arnold! Lebkuchen!"

Ianto spluttered at the last one.

"Our son will not be named after a German gingerbread!"

Jack began to protest.

"No matter how delicious they are!" Ianto growled.

Pop! Pop!

The two fathers turned in surprise to see two bickering teenage girls appear out of nowhere.

"How about Hamish?"

"Blerghhh! No!" Yelled the brunette.

"Sherlock? Leo?"

The girls turned their attention to a bewildered Jack and Ianto.

"Loki? Drake?"

"Spike? Nico?"

"James? Hannibal?"

The fair haired girl spluttered.

"What is it with you and creepy serial killers?"

"Shut up! They're sexy!"

The two girls vanished as quickly as they had arrived.

Ianto shrugged.

"Well, I quite liked Nico..."

Nico Allan Sebastian Harkness was named in style in the Torchwood hub, courtesy of the Doctor and the Master, who brought alien booze and an awesome cake.

Nico made friends with Ally and Gerry quickly - well, they gurgled and played together.

Willow turned her nose up at everyone except the Master, and sneezed all over Gwen when she was made a fuss of.

Toshiko thought it was hilarious.

Gwen, covered in baby gloop, was not amused.

!

Sherlock looked in terror at the thing in his arms.

"It's a... Girl..." He croaked (NO! He's NOT a frog).

John beamed.

"Oh, that's brilliant! You'll finally be able to start understanding women!"

Sherlock went three shades paler than his usual ivory.

He glared at the sleeping child.

"Can't you look after it?"

"Sherlock!" John cried.

Sherlock pouted.

"What?"

"'It' is a she. She is your daughter. What did you call her? Erin?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Aeryn. Air-WREN. Aeryn Holmes-Moriarty."

John grinned.

"She's lovely... Can I hold her?"

Sherlock's lip twitched.

"If you insist..."

He reluctantly handed the infant over.

John practically cooed with delight.

"Ooh! You are gorgeous, aren't you..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you, John."

"Oh, shut up. I was talking to Aeryn."

John gleefully cuddled the sleeping baby, Sherlock secretly jealous.

"I think that's enough now."

He reached his arms out to reclaim his tiny daughter.

John held on stubbornly.

Sherlock scowled.

They both turned as the detective's bedroom door opened.

Moriarty leaned on the door, smirking.

"Fighting over my daughter, I see?"

Sherlock half smiled, it was odd seeing his archnemesis without the baby bump he had grown accustomed to.

The criminal winked, pulling a long silver chain out of his pocket.

"Did you keep it?"

The consulting detective glared.

He yanked his own necklace out of his shirt.

"You actually wore it?!"

Moriarty's face showed genuine surprise.

"How could I refuse a pregnant psychopath?" Sherlock replied dryly.

"Yes, but you could have put it in your pocket or something..."

John was amused when Sherlock gave up arguing and kissed his "babymama", as Anderson kept calling the criminal.

Moriarty reached for Aeryn, John handed her over immediately, grinning at Sherlock's disbelief.

"You let James hold her and not me?"

Just then, the baby woke up, making a tiny gurgling sound.

Sherlock's scowl vanished, to be replaced with a look of - pride? John only saw that look when he had solved a particularly exciting murder...

Moriarty smiled genuinely, stroking the wrinkled little face, framed by dark brown baby fluff. Aeryn blinked wide blue eyes, unfocused but unclouded, bright with intelligence. "She's gonna be our little genius, Sherley..." Moriarty ran his index finger gingerly over the pale cheeks, blotchy with previously shed tears.

Sherlock bit his lip, desperately trying to contain a grin.

In the end he gave up.

Who could resist a baby genius' giggle?

Certainly not the great Sherlock Holmes...

!

"Amy... This isn't funny..."

Rory scowled, turning his face away from the camera. "Of course it is, dad... It's hilarious..." River giggled. Amy just grinned, taking picture after picture.

"No, seriously, get me out of here!"

The response was just a burst of laughter.

Rory thought out escape plans as he fought his way through the tangle of Christmas lights surrounding him.

Finally, he reached the perfect solution.

"Help! River! Amy! The baby's coming!"

He was out of there in a flash...

!

"Scrambled eggs!"

Martha jumped up in surprise.

"What?!"

Maia was running around, waving her arms and shouting random things from time to time.

She was wearing glasses she didn't need, her curly hair was loose and sprawling and she wore denim dungarees over a man's green shirt and a black tie with ankle boots that didn't match.

In truth, she looked bonkers.

Well... She was...

"Carrot juice! Celery! Eyeball tea!"

Martha sighed and rubbed her temples. After her date with Leo, she had got back to find Maia babbling nonsense on one of the many sofas. Since then (three - or was it four? - hours ago), the older girl had become far more lively...

Martha's Biro snapped and she swore, making Maia giggle.

"She swore, naughty! Naughty lady swore, she did! I wouldn't do that, would I Vexy? No!"

Martha turned disbelieving eyes upon her colleague.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Maia was on the ceiling now.

"Lalalalalalala! Ding dong, you're dead!" She cackled.

Martha facepalmed.

Then she remembered.

Maia was pregnant, wasn't she?

Maybe she was in some kind of Fandom coma, except, well, not in a coma...

Martha drew her sonic spoon from her pocket, scanning her friend.

Maia's eyes flashed green.

"Possessed? By a frog?"

Martha was deeply confused.

Pop!

Out of Maia's head sprang a baby... No, two!

Martha scratched her head.

"Uh... Maia?"

It's a bit hard concentrating on your work when children are popping out of your friend's head...


End file.
